The Howling Commandos
by Liquid Fire KAN
Summary: Everything was back to normal – he could see ghosts, go to Soul Society whenever the hell he felt like it, and had a giant butcher knife for a zanpakuto. Life was perfect; just the way it should be – or so Ichigo thought. The universe, on the other hand, said otherwise. Fate, it seemed, loved to prove him wrong. IchiRuki.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: BLEACH and all trademarks are the sole and rightful property of Kubo Tite, and Shueisha Publishing. **

**Summary: **_Everything was back to normal – he could see ghosts, go to Soul Society whenever the hell he felt like it, and had a giant butcher knife for a zanpakuto. Life was perfect; just the way it should be – or so Ichigo thought. The universe, on the other hand, said otherwise. Fate, it seemed, loved to prove him wrong._

**A/N: **This will most likely be the longest author's note, for the reason that this is the first chapter of the story. So please bear with me, and suffer through it, or just gloss right over it. Either suits me.

There are just a few things I'd like to get out of the way is all.

This story was and is still going to be the rewrite of Deathberry Chronicles, but has (initially), very little in common with the plot. Most elements of the original are preserved, but only later introduced, to ensure the longevity and clarity of the story. It is also to maintain consistency with the current arc in the manga.

However, because this is a fan fiction, the quincy (Vandenreich) are not the main villains, nor are the shinigami, nor are the arrancar, but rest assured, the quincies are evil. Sort of… All is explained. So just read, enjoy, and please review, because nothing would make me happier.

_**~ Liquid Fire KAN**_

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**Sequence One - Back In White**

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**Prelude**

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"_Lock the door, throw away the key, _

_Hide all you want; it matters not - there's still a bloody sea,_

_Behold, be scared, and be shocked by your deeds,_

_Let us, the deceased, bear witness to the glory of this now crumbled city."_

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Chains clinked methodically from far off, and a pair of eyes (dull and uninterested), followed the sounds. There was not much else of interest. And even this sound did not interest him all that very much. But it was something. And that was better than nothing, so he followed it with a feigned interest. At least, there was a distraction – something his prison so very rarely offered him.

Hell was after all supposed to be a boring place for its prisoners as its name so indicated. It certainly was for him anyway. There was nothing for him to do. As far as the eye could see there was barren land, and lava. Somewhere over the horizon (far away from him), there were other prisoners, with whom he cared not to speak.

Isolation suited him.

But now, he was bored. There was absolutely nothing to do, besides plan a coup, or spur the other inmates into revolting.

They were only hobbies a rebel rouser would find interesting – at least he thought so. And he was not that (regardless of what others believed). He found nothing amusing in starting riots, or in revolting. Everyone else seemed to think otherwise. Idiots, he scoffed – as if he cared what those people thought. They were all stupid…

He sighed. It was that kind of thinking that had landed him in such a place. Then, he laughed. He had made a habit of getting himself into trouble – there was irony in that. But there was no point in living in the past either, he supposed.

At that he laughed even harder. It was funny (more ludicrous actually), how easily he could lie to himself. But that too, he supposed, should come as no surprise – after all he was the master of illusions, and he had lied before, so why not to himself as well.

"Yes, why not?" he mused. Lying to himself was as easy as lying to anyone else. He wasn't special after all. He was just an ordinary shinigami, living in the past, trying to convince himself otherwise. And where had that gotten him landed…?

A sardonic smile graced his lips. His life was one filled with contradictions, and ironies, and lies. So much so, that even lying to his zanpakuto had been easy.

His fist clenched involuntarily, tightening around where his blade should have been. In its place was air (and emptiness – he was missing some vital part of himself). And there had been nothing but air for the longest of times – an air tainted with his lies.

He felt empty. He had always felt empty. Even with his zanpakuto he had been empty. Something ached inside.

At first it had been dull – detachment was not too bad. He convinced himself that it was necessary, if not for his sake, then for hers (and that had made him feel less empty). It had all been for her sake – that was good. He would have done anything for her sake, even give his life.

Irony reared its ugly head. He had given his life for her (metaphorically), and she had given her life (literally), for that cause.

But he had still failed (the emptiness gnawed at him), where he had sworn he would not.

Grimacing he tugged at the chain protruding out of his chest, idly wondering if his heart was still there. He didn't think so – it felt empty.

But he supposed it should be – for how could he be burning as he did; writhing in agony as he was, if his heart was gone. It was impossible. The heart would have had to have been there. It had to be.

He could still remember her after all. Even in loneliness, she was there, torturing him. But still, he could not hate her – he could hate anyone but her. He could lie to anyone but her – even to himself.

And he had lied so much (too much) once she died. He had lied before – but not that much. After she was gone the lie was his reality, and illusion had become his only solace.

He had detached himself – let himself grow distant from even himself. And because of it his façade was over. His maddened delusions were no more. His zanpakuto was gone. There was no one left to lie to. There was no one left whom he hadn't yet deceived. There was no one left (he was all alone, and he hated himself, so there was no one at all).

To the world, he was dead; to himself, he was no one (unworthy). And she had been dead long before him. He sneered, 'Oh, how the mighty have fallen… If only you all could see this. If only _you_ could see this.'

And he thought of not her, but him, and tried to loathe him.

With all his will, he wanted to loathe him, but he could not. _He_ was hers – that which had made her so happy. He could not loathe such a thing. He could never do such a thing – not to her. And he could most certainly not do it while he saw that color – her color. It was the same as _his _color. They were the same… And he could never hate something of hers.

No – that would be perjury (of the highest degree).

Exhaling sharply, he shut his eyes. It hurt to remember her – to remember his failure, in his past and present; to remember that there was no one left to lie to.

There was no one left but him, and he couldn't bear to lie to himself anymore. Only the truth was ringing in his ears. The truth of a promise made years ago still haunted him, because he had failed to fulfill it. He had failed her.

Perjury, a voice cried. The air was still tainted with lies. His lies hovered all around him. He had failed and lied. There was nothing but lies left. And the lies haunted him, because behind the lies were the truths, of a promise, and of his failure.

There was only a painful truth, and him.

His eyes flickered open. But there was still the truth…

He smiled. The truth was there – within him, and within her, and within their promise. That truth still existed. That truth was not a lie, but absolute, and would always be.

The promise would never die, and nor would he. As long as the promise was there, he would not die, and nor would she (though she was already dead). And for that, he still had purpose.

A wind picked up as he stood with a newfound vigor (the chains which bound him rattled). His purpose had not yet been fulfilled (something inside him rattled). And though she was gone, he would fulfill the purpose which she had given him. He would finish what he had started, if not for his sake, for hers.

Because, he knew, with every fiber of his being, that everything he had done thus far – all the crimes he had committed, all the sins he had sinned – all of it was for her sake. And he was certain that all he would do would be for her sake as well.

He would do right by her memory. He would redeem himself in her eyes. He would live for her once more.

The sky (or whatever was above him) crackled, bringing with it an eerie red. A red that could only mean a storm was coming. A storm was coming very fast. And he could only pray there was enough time for redemption. He could only pray for redemption. He could only pray that history did not repeat itself.

He could only pray for himself and the world, but he would only pray for that boy who could have just as easily been his son. He would only pray for her and him; nor for himself, and nor for the world.

The day of reckoning had come. The holy war was upon them. And he would march to meet fate. But this time, he would walk honestly.

Truth, if nothing else was on his side.

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**Fin**

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**A/N: **That's it. Not much. But it's only the prelude, and that too of sequence one. And that brings me to my next point (one which I have forgotten to mention in my opening authors note). This story will be separated into sequences (not sure how many, but a fair few), with each sequence spanning a certain amount of chapters (some more than others). Simple enough.

On another note, if you happen to figure out who the mystery-gami is (and most people should be able to – I dropped several hints), please do not spam my inbox with complaints about how the person is OOC, because I'm already well aware of that, and have made it that way for a reason. Any spam like that, will be either deleted, or replied to in an equally annoying and ridiculous manner.

Rawr. I apologize for my uncouthness, but I needed to get that off my chest. I'm generally a nice person. Really, I am. So please read and review, give constructive criticism and what-not, and finally enjoy.

_**~ Liquid Fire KAN**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: BLEACH and all trademarks are the sole and rightful property of Kubo Tite and Shueisha Publishing.**

**Summary: **_Everything was back to normal – he could see ghosts, go to Soul Society whenever the hell he felt like it, and had a giant butcher knife for a zanpakuto. Life was perfect; just the way it should be – or so Ichigo thought. The universe, on the other hand, said otherwise. Fate, it seemed, loved to prove him wrong._

**A/N: **As promised, most of my author notes will no longer be as loquacious as the previous one for lack of anything to say. That said, read, review, give constructive criticism, and enjoy – nothing would make me happier.

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**Graveyard Blues**

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Ichigo sighed heavily (annoyed), stepping back to admire his handiwork. It seemed it was always something – hollows, megalomaniacal psychopaths…The list seemed to be never-ending, nor were the troubles in his life.

'I guess I shouldn't complain…' he thought, reminiscing, 'After all that's happened… This is… nice.' The man underneath his left foot twitched slightly, pulling him from his reverie.

He glanced down.

Blood trickled from the man's lips, and his eye (at least the part not obscured by Ichigo's foot), was turning an ugly shade of purple. Ichigo chuckled, 'And he's already down for the count… Che, these guys aren't all that tough… They're definitely not as tough as they claim they are… the idiots…'

Why gangs felt the need to advertise their prowess, he couldn't fathom. It was just stupid. Only two things could come out of it, and neither of the two was good.

They would either succeed in attracting the attention of the police and get shut down, or attract the attention of a rival gang and get shut down. Ichigo clicked his tongue disapprovingly, 'Yeah… stupid…'

The man beneath his foot twitched again. Ichigo removed his foot, and though the man remained prone, he appeared evidently more relaxed. The same could not be said of another by his right foot who lay crumpled in a heap. Blood trickled from his lips as well.

Ichigo stepped over the first body and angled himself closer to the second.

Almost as though sensing Ichigo's presence, the man curled into himself even further, trying to shield his already bruised and battered body. The effort caused him to groan in pain, and Ichigo was sure he had broken a rib. He remembered hearing a snap when he had elbowed the man in the chest…

'Geez,' Ichigo absentmindedly rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, 'I really did a number on these guys, huh?'

A moan from a third man beneath a branching tree served as his answer.

He frowned.

Whatever had happened was not his fault – not in the least bit. They were the ones being idiots; he had just been taking a walk and happened to stumble upon them (drunk and sozzled out of their minds).

Ichigo scoffed, "Che, drinking in a cemetery... These dick-heads should know better than to get drunk in a place like this."

His left arm, slack by his side, reached over to pick up a bottle, which stood neatly on a tombstone next to him. 'Iwanoi...'

Ichigo didn't need to smell it to know what it was - the smell of booze already contaminated much of the air. Iwanoi's scent was everywhere. The men lying prone on the ground reeked of it of course. Ichigo's nose wrinkled. He had never understood the motivation behind drinking, nor had he cared much for it…

But apparently there was a strong correlation between gangs and the horrible substance. Ichigo sighed for what seemed like thousandth time that night. There was also a correlation between shinigami and the horrible substance. Not that he had ever cared for it…

The stuff smelled putrid, and tasted just as bad if not worse. The bitter taste of the substance had not yet left his mouth from the last time Renji had convinced him to accompany him to a tavern. Ichigo shuddered.

That was not a place he wanted to revisit any time soon. But… he could do with a visit to Soul Society – just like that. It was interesting there (for him anyways), and this world (though it was where he had lived his entire life), was not. Not anymore anyways… Living a normal life had long since lost his appeal for him. Seventeen months had been enough to show him that he was only suited to life as a shinigami – no matter how much of a pain it was.

One of the men stirred (the one under the tree), rousing Ichigo from his thoughts, shifting his focus to the just awakening drunk, who was (much to Ichigo's relief), still drunk.

'Anyways,' thought Ichigo, 'the hollows are more bearable than these idiots. At least when a hollow goes down, it stays down.'

Setting the bottle of liquor on the ground, Ichigo strode forward (albeit menacingly), until he was standing over the man, who had barely managed to sit up (and that too groggily).

"T-the fuck..." the man slurred, swaying in place, "The fuck happen-n-e-ed?"

Ichigo almost laughed - not ten minutes ago had he kicked this guy's ass. He sighed once more, 'Another good thing about hollows… Once you kick their asses they remember that you did. And here it seems as though this dick-head's already forgotten what happened... Honestly, how drunk can you get...?"

The man tried again (still swaying), slightly more coherent, and aware of Ichigo's towering presence, "I s-s-said, t-the fuck," he spat slightly, "happened?"

Ichigo remained (externally), silent, and (internally), in a state of awe at the man's idiocy.

'Honestly,' he almost laughed aloud, 'forget the drunken part. How stupid can you get?'

The man was no threat to him, not with his injuries, but yet was still trying to scare him away… No, he would never understand these kinds of people.

His eyes swept over the body, cataloguing injuries. A broken wrist and nose... Just as he thought, this man could do nothing to him (save for giving him a good laugh); not without ending up even more wounded than he already was.

He exhaled, 'Idiot… Drunk or not... you can't do anything... Not to me. Not to anyone. Not in this state…'

Then Ichigo smirked, 'Even on a good day, I can kick your ass… Any day, I can kick your ass.'

Lazily, he pulled back his fist, and the drunkard braced himself for the impact which never came. Ichigo groaned, as the hollow roared, dropping his fist instants before he made contact – gangs were more of a pain than the hollows, but the hollows certainly made a habit of showing up at the worst times possible.

Frustrated, his reiatsu spiked dramatically. The man passed out once more (cold), and the hollow roared once more, very aware of the meal that awaited it; if by chance it got lucky. And Ichigo felt it rushing towards him.

It roared (fifty metres away), it roared twice (twenty five metres), it roared thrice (from right in front of him), and it roared the fourth time as it dissipated into the air, Ichigo slicing it neatly in half with his fullbring (just the sword anyways).

He wasn't sure if he liked fullbring or not. But it certainly was more economical than becoming a shinigami – when it came down to a few hollows anyway. His human body was more than a match for them. And if necessary, his shinigami form was far from weak – and more than enough to take on a few hollows.

A soft smile graced his lips, 'That's right; my powers are back, aren't they? And everything is right… I have my powers again.'

And for the first time in a very long, he felt genuinely happy. The hollows he could do without, but his powers he couldn't. He needed to know that he could protect the people whom he wanted to protect more than anything, and he needed his powers to be able to do that. And finally, he had what he needed – his ability to protect.

The seventeen months of powerlessness meant nothing any longer. But they did serve as a reminder of who he was.

"_Ichigo…" a younger version of himself looked up at his father, "It's okay to be sad. But please don't shut us out like this."_

_He said nothing. There was nothing to say. His mother was death, and nothing he said could change that. Wishing wouldn't bring her back, crying wouldn't bring her back, nothing would bring her back. She was gone – forever. She was gone, because of him._

_Tears flowed unbidden, and he felt his father envelop him in a hug. He did not react. She was gone._

Ichigo scowled – if only he could have protected her; if only he had his shinigami powers then.

'She wouldn't have died… but she did… she died…' he thought, 'It's my fault… I couldn't protect her.'

Stepping forward, he eased aside one of the body's with his foot, and crouched by a tombstone, which had been previously obstructed by the drunken man, whom he had just kicked aside. It was an ordinary tombstone, date name and all. But this one was special to him.

"_I almost got Tatsuki this time, and I'm gonna get her for sure next time!" He tripped over his own words eager to say them – to make her happy._

_He wanted her to be happy, and so he grinned when she smiled and replied, "Is that so? You're getting strong, aren't you, Ichigo?"_

His fingers ran over the inscriptions, methodically. The motion was comforting, not because it was familiar, or even welcome, but because it had something to do with her, and she had always had a way of making him smile.

She had made him smile that day…

"_But try to be more careful, okay, Ichigo?" She rubbed at the dirt on his face with her handkerchief causing him to grunt in protest. He didn't need that sort of mollycoddling – he was big now. And he would prove that he was. Not only would he take care of himself, he would take care of her. _

_A look of fierce determination came across his face. He would protect his mother no matter what. He smiled then, and looked up at his mom as she took his hand._

Even now… he was smiling. He was smiling sadly, but still smiling.

"Feh," he laughed uncomfortably, "It's stupid that I'm smiling here and now, huh?" Only the wind answered him, rustling his vibrant, orange hair.

He laughed again.

"I can't help it I guess... You've always brought a smile to my face," his voice was soft. "You were always the one who would cheer me up, the one who would protect me... And that's why I had always wanted to smile for you... Because you would always smile for me… always..."

_They walked and walked. They weren't far from home. Any minute now, they would be home, and then he could tell his dad how much he had improved. His dad would be proud of him. He knew his mom was._

_A car whizzed past him spraying him with water (it had been raining that day). He still smiled. Nothing could dampen his mood – he had won a fight, and now he had protected his mom._

Thunder crackled. Ichigo sighed - this was inevitable. The rain would come now. Shinigami powers were one thing, his mother was another.

"_Oh, Ichigo!" his mother dabbed at his wet face with her handkerchief, "That wasn't very nice! Now you're all wet!" _

_He grinned – he was wet and happy. "It's okay, mom! I'm glad. I was able to protect you!"_

_She smiled, "That's very nice Ichigo, but let me walk on the curbside, okay? I don't want you to get sick." _

_And because she smiled he let her. He was happy making her happy (though he would have been happy protecting her as well). He grabbed her hand and they started for home again. The rain was getting heavier – it was hard to see, but he saw that girl._

_There was a girl by the riverbank, looking like she was about to jump. Or fall – he wasn't sure which. _

"_Mom, wait!" He tugged at his mother's arm, and she turned to look at him. "Look, there's a girl, mom! Wait, I'll go get her. It's not safe."_

_With that, he was hurtling towards the river._

'I should have been able to protect her…' his fist clenched, 'I should have at least been able to avenge her… But I couldn't even kill that bastard. Had she been alive so many things would be better… Yuzu and Karin would never have grieved so much, and… I… I…'

Something rankled.

'Had she been alive...' he thought again.

"_ICHIGO!" _

_He ignored the scream and kept hurtling towards the riverbank. How could his mother of all people, have expected him to let the girl die?_

_She couldn't - she just couldn't. And he couldn't either. He couldn't watch her die._

Ichigo trembled.

'_Almost there now,' his younger self thought. Almost... He reached out and grasped at air. And then he fell. A weight fell on top of him. A bloody weight was on top of him. _

_A person was lying dead atop him. His mother. _

_His mother was lying dead atop him. Dead. And it was all his fault. She had died... not by the hands of serial killer, not by a thief, not by a drunk driver, not by anyone... but him._

The next thought came unbidden, 'I'd have been fine had I not killed her...' He looked to the sky and the rain began to pour.

Rain trickled down his face.

And it poured, and poured.

_He screamed, and then cried. And then screamed, and cried._

It was a good thing, Ichigo supposed. At least no one would be able to see him crying. Not in this rain they wouldn't. The rain cascaded roughly down his face, mixing with the warmer liquid - his tears. At times it would slow, and fall gently, and at other times, it would fall, merciless.

Then, it stopped. First it became a slight drizzle, and then vanished altogether just as the sun rose over Karakura.

He had been standing in the cemetery for a while…

'Morning,' he though, glancing around, 'It's already morning...' His neck was stiff from remaining prone for so long. A very long time…

'How long have I been standing out here?' he wondered. He did not recall staying out that late. It had only been midnight when he had ran into the thugs who still lay unconscious and soaking on the ground. And now it was…

Ichigo lifted his wrist and glanced at his watch.

Nine, it read. Ichigo sighed. He was going to be late for class again. Scowling lightly, he trudged away from the tombstone,

'Ochi-sensei is going to kill me... Fuck.'

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**Fin**

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**A/N: **This may seem like a filler chapter – it's not. Parts of it are, but that's just for atmospheric effect. I wrote it with a purpose. For what purpose you'll have to wait and find out. As a clue, you can check out Rebooted Souls – there's something in there that has a lot to do with this chapter. On an obvious note, however, this chapter was also written to highlight the change in Ichigo's character – he's not the same fifteen year old boy whom Rukia transferred her powers to. And that is what this story will focus on for the most part – Ichigo's character development and growth.

**~ Liquid Fire KAN**


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